


une carte blanche

by velvet_undergroound



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bisexual Harry Potter, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, F/M, Harry Potter & Ron Weasley Friendship, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Mutual Pining, Not Epilogue Compliant, Other, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Ron Weasley Bashing, Therapy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:54:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28493448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/velvet_undergroound/pseuds/velvet_undergroound
Summary: The Daily Prophet has a nasty way of reminding Hermione of things she’d be better off carving out of her psyche. This time, it’s a moving photo of Draco Malfoy and his fiancee Astoria, wearing guarded smiles on the night of their lavish engagement party. Malfoy haunts her days, first physically during their Hogwarts years, and now after the war. Of course Astoria’s beautiful, with shining blonde hair that nearly matched the rock-like engagement ring on her delicate finger. Hermione knew she was in every way Draco’s equal, aside from her blood curse. Hermione scarcely expected the war to erase all old customs but watching pureblood matches continue were like salt in an old wound. Mudblood, Malfoy called her.Hidden beneath the wool knit of her sweater was Mudblood etched into her skin. The word gave her nightmares, envisioning Bellatrix carving it into her skin as she laid in shock on the cold, stone floor of Malfoy Manor. Now, five years after the war it threatened to send a shiver down her spine. She spent the better part of six months taking Sleeping Draught to avoid the nightmares. Now, Hermione Granger was a woman with her own business and only a few vices hidden in her skeleton closet.
Relationships: Ginny Weasley & Blaise Zabini, Hermione Granger & Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Neville Longbottom/Luna Lovegood, Theodore Nott/Pansy Parkinson
Comments: 1
Kudos: 23





	1. thrown in the deep end; ready now to swim

_Lucius & Narcissa Malfoy  
and  
Sebastian & Ophelia Greengrass  
are pleased to announce the engagement of their children  
Draco Lucius Malfoy  
&  
Astoria Mathilde Greengrass_

The Daily Prophet has a nasty way of reminding Hermione of things she’d be better off carving out of her psyche. This time, it’s a moving photo of Draco Malfoy and his fiancee Astoria, wearing guarded smiles on the night of their lavish engagement celebration at Malfoy Manor. She would know those silver eyes and platinum hair anywhere. Malfoy haunts her days, first physically during their Hogwarts years, and now after the war. The man has a lingering presence she acknowledges with ambivalence, if not irritation and anger. Hatred. Curse-bringing hatred and anger. Buried beneath her anger’s a well of suppressed emotions she refuses to unearth. If anyone knew her true feelings, they might as well carry stones in their pockets and follow her into the river of pining. This time, the jealousy and hurt were sheathed in irritation. 

Of course Astoria’s thin, beautiful, with shining blonde hair that nearly matched the rock-like engagement ring on her delicate finger. Hermione knew she was in every way Draco’s equal, aside from her blood curse. She’s a pureblood, untarnished by Muggle genetics, with wealth and stature. Hermione scarcely expected the war to erase all old customs but watching pureblood matches continue were like salt in an old wound. Mudblood, they’d called her. Malfoy called her that too. It was nothing but a weak insult, cursing things magicfolk couldn’t change about themselves. After all these years it became meaningless in all ways but one. 

Hidden beneath the woolen knit of her sweater was that word etched into her skin, shiny new flesh covering up the letters. The word gave her nightmares, envisioning Bellatrix carving them into her skin one by one as she laid in shock on the cold, stone floor of Malfoy Manor. Now, five years after the war it threatened to send a shiver down her spine. She spent the better part of six months taking Sleeping Draught to avoid the nightmares. The healers eventually recommended therapy, and the emerald colored journal on her nightstand stood as one form of it. Now, Hermione Granger was a woman with her own business and only a few vices hidden in her skeleton closet.

Hermione tossed her copy of the Daily Prophet into the crackling fire a few meters in front of her sofa, sighing as she did. Draco’s presence wavered over the years, only reappearing in brief moments. A handful of times during his family’s post-war trials and then again during her brief visits to the Ministry. The most recent happened only a fortnight ago. She’d just finished visiting Harry at Grimmauld Place, the path back to her own flat cold and windy, with a bag of presents rattling under her arm. She stepped into Wizarding London’s posh shopping district, meaning to get a vial of perfume for Luna as a gift. Little did she know, Draco would be there with Astoria, the blond pair quite the sight in complimentary wool coats. A icy patch of sidewalk sent her sliding, the packages spilling from her bag and she nearly fell into Malfoy. His tense expression, and Astoria’s distaste, were clear as she muttered an embarrassed apology. 

There was something about that December night, the pair of them colliding, that reminded her of the Yule Ball in fourth year. 

\-------------

_The Great Hall was alive with glittering lights and dazzling colors, rows of students chatting happily as the entrances began. Hermione’s heart hammered against her ribcage as she looped her arm into Viktor’s, walking with her head held high as the champions were announced. She’d never felt so many eyes on her at one time, or felt so exposed. The periwinkle dress complimented her caramel colored skin beautifully, her curls coiffed neatly to match her makeup. Something locked into place, perhaps growing confidence, as she walked towards the center of attention. Just as she rounded a corner to the dance hall, her chocolate eyes met a pair of silver ones. Eyes wide, unreadable, as they took in her form in the fine layers of her dress._

_Hermione’s pulse thrummed harder as she kept her eyes fixated on Draco’s. There was always something between them. Competition, loathing, and distrust but never attraction. Never mutual want. Hermione was his equal in school work, her intellect shining through all of their shared classes. She was one of the few that dared to stand up to the spoiled, blonde git. She was one of the few that saw through his carefully built exterior. It was infuriating, how easily she saw through him yet when he talked to her, her judgement clouded. Now, with their eyes locked in what felt like a moment frozen in time, she felt both towering above him and on the same level. The surprise and unnamed emotions in his eyes threatened to pierce her where she stood, rendering her immobile. She couldn’t imagine what her own eyes said back, but she hoped she didn’t look as unsure as she felt._

_In the moment, she felt like a newborn fawn on wobbly legs. Viktor’s sweeping movements lead her away, wrapping her up in the first dance of the evening. It was easy to forget about the shared moment, hiding the blood rising in her cheeks as excitement or exertion. The night continued swimmingly, but Hermione’s mind continued to flash those silver eyes. After the fight with Ron she fled the common room, his jealousy crashing around her like waves. Hermione did have feelings for Ron but she was too wrapped up in the events of the night to address them. Heeled, quick steps led her past the moving staircases to the entry hall, the music of the night only setting in a further sense of need to escape the castle. The cold night beckoned, a shiver settling over her bare arms._

_The grounds were cloaked in a dark blanket of night, a few stars shining thousands of feet above the earth. She felt small, insignificant, in that moment. Who would’ve predicted the Yule Ball would’ve been so strange? Without warning, tears beaded from Hermione’s eyes, her fingers dashing them away before they could chill her over-heated skin._

_Stubborn, jealous Ron. Overbearing, but handsome, Krum. Neither of them captivated her imagination like Malfoy did. If there was any real enemy Hermione fraternized with tonight, it was him. She sank onto the cold step, curling into herself as the night breeze blew her array of curls over her shoulders. She was confused and upset, nothing making any sense. Draco’s gaze held more than its usual malice or pompous irritation. No, there was something else...and she knew she couldn’t put stock into it._

_She shut her eyes tightly, feeling her heartbeat slow as she took deliberate, deep breaths. This was peaceful, a way to escape from the flurry of emotions she was lost in. How’d she get out here, and so far from her own logic? Without the outburst, she would be in her dormitory, soaking her body in a warm, oil-infused bath. That sounded wonderful, the cold chill of the night starting to seep beneath her thin layers._

_Just as she rose to leave, the doors creaked open. Hermione had all intentions of leaving, saying a quick apology, and then climbing into the bath. That plan shattered when she heard a familiar voice behind her._

_“Granger?” Malfoy said, quirking a brow as she turned to face him._

_She was trapped under his gaze for a few moments, her heart hammering like a rabbit ensnared by a predator._

_“Malfoy.” Her voice echoed through the entryway, her posture stiffening as her gaze went cold. If there was one thing Hermione became good at, it was pretending people like Malfoy didn’t bother her._

_“Thought you’d be upstairs with the rest of the Gryffindors, gloating over Potter.” The malice in his tone brought Hermione back to the cold reality that always existed. Draco viewed her like a specimen, curious but ultimately something intangible. Hermione felt her defenses rising, trying to calm the anger swelling in her stomach._

_“No, I have my own thoughts and actions. We’re not some hivemind.” Hermione watched a sneering smirk appear as Malfoy carded a hand through his blond hair. Over the summer, and the term, he’d grown a few inches and his figure was starting to fill out. No doubt it was from his time playing quidditch; he was agile, nimble, and fast on the pitch. That movement threatened to topple her resolve like a house of cards._

_“Huh. Suppose you do, I saw how angry Weaselbee was when you were with Krum. Looked like he was going to vomit slugs again.” Malfoy’s self-amused laugh rang through the courtyard, Hermione’s eyes rolling at the words._

_“Is that all you know how to do? Ferreting around, trying to find a sensitive spot to bring to light? And in the name of what, trying to prove your status?” Hermione took another step towards him, the glow of the large chandelier casting shadows over her face. It was time to put these self-generated insecurities to rest. “Or is it under the guise of amusing others? I wonder...is it meant to cover up your insecurities or to make them believe you’re not flawed...maybe both.”_

_Draco’s face went pale, anger building in his expression as Hermione unceremoniously stepped around him. She kept her eyes focused ahead, envisioning her path to the dorms and ignored whatever words he conjured up to toss at her. Hermione felt no better after the interaction, but it helped to let off steam. As she climbed into bed hours later, her mind was just as confused as before._

\-----------

The memory left Hermione curled into the crook of her sofa, a warm blanket settled over her lap as her cat Sorcha slept lazily on her lap. Every time her path crossed Draco’s it felt like there were possibilities ready to take hold of them both, but the restraints of their lives kept them in place. Hermione was much the same as she was, the brightest witch of their age that now ran a bookshop in York. She was still friends with Harry, Ginny, and several other students from school. It was a quaint and interesting life, her days filled with adventures as she worked as a part-time liaison for the Ministry’s Beast Division, doing research on house elves as a contractor. It was never dull but it was lacking. 

Lacking what, specifically, she refused to acknowledge. Her parents, slowly gaining their memories back after being Obliviated, did their best to spend time with her. She craved a sense of family, a sense of belonging. In a world filled with everything she created and cultivated, she still felt hollow. The desire for more was strong enough to settle deep in her stomach, taking root alongside her age-old insecurities. Now, more than ever, Hermione wished for a sense of excitement. 

The ticking of the old grandfather clock in her living room anchored her in the moment, taking stock of her all too familiar shortcomings. She was ashamed, embarrassed, to admit how frail her ego had become. It was hard seeing everyone dating, getting engaged and married. Her teeth clenched around her lip, fingers brushing through Sorcha’s soft fur. Was this all her life was going to be, a collection of past glories and future mistakes? 

Her eyes surveyed the mantle over her fireplace, the various mementos of her life defining her. There were a few moving pictures from Hogwarts, the purple beaded bag she took on the run, and a small row of figurines. One, in particular, was a brilliant green dragon her mum bought in Wales. She snorted, a dry sort of laugh, as she thought about the irony. A dragon on the mantle, with Draco’s picture burning in the flames beneath it. A perfect epitome of his name and yet another reminder. 

She had it bad. And she frowned at the acknowledgement, her therapist’s words ringing in her ears.

“ _The first step to healing is admitting something’s bothering you._ ” 

Draco Malfoy bothered her, and it was something she fought every time she was reminded of his existence. Stupid, blond prick and his Veela-like finacee. They would litter the society page of the Daily Prophet until their heir was announced. 

Hermione’s stomach flipped with an unnamed feeling as she thought about Astoria marrying Draco, holding his newborn child in her arms, and the burning jealousy she felt when she saw the pair together. The memories lived in her head rent-free, reminding her that she was pathetically hung up on a childhood acquaintance. 

The grandfather clock rang 8 AM, prompting Hermione to finish her tea and dress for the day. She crossed the wooden expanse of her flat, ticking off a to-do list in her head for the shop. After work, she needed to pop over to Grimmauld Place to see Harry. Grocery shopping, the menial and ever-persistent adult task, also needed to happen. Her cupboard was looking dreadfully bare with the days-old soup in her fridge getting down to the last few ladlefuls. Hermione’s eyes met her gaze in the mirror above her dresser, dark circles beneath her eyes from a lack of sleep. 

She sighed softly, running a hand through the mass of curls clustered around her face and cast a silent charm to fix them into a half-up, half-down style. The addition of a light layer of makeup, mascara, foundation, and concealer, helps to breathe life into her caramel colored skin, making her seem more energetic than she felt. Today she dressed in something comfortable, a warm and soothing sweater dress with a mustard colored scarf and knee-high leather boots. The day would be cold, according to the forecast, a chill moving in from the North Sea. 

The shop opened at approximately 9 AM, customers trickling in as the day went by. Her business, The Odyssey, drew in crowds from all over the UK, in need of rare and independent books. The two levels, one for the shop and another for reading and events, showed signs of life as her patrons flit from place to place. Hermione’s office, set on the second level with a glass front looking over the shop, served as a welcome respite from the busy event happening below. Today’s special event, happening every fortnight on Saturdays, devoted itself to divintation. 

At Hogwarts, Hermione scarcely indulged herself in divination, a subject founded on far less than the logic she loved. Now, after the war, customers found joy in the flexible arts of tarot, tea leaf reading, and more. She welcomed individuals from other small businesses to have booths at the shop and show off the assortment of related books for sale. The event went well, until the end of the day when her cashier, Portia, left due to a sudden illness. 

Around ten minutes until closing the shop bell chimed, drawing her back to the cashier stand. Draco Malfoy walked in through the door, shaking the rain from his jacket and platinum hair. Hermione’s heart rate rose; as if the fates didn’t give her enough earlier. Forcing a smile onto her tired features, she waited for him to come farther inside, watching his tall, muscular figure move fluidly before he noticed her. 

“Hi, welcome in.” Her tone was level, not revealing any sort of emotion. “Looking for anything in particular?” 

Draco's face darkened with an unreadable expression, silver eyes sweeping over her lithe form concealed in a curve-complimenting sweater dress. He crossed the space between them easily, his large hands resting on the wooden counter within moments. “Granger, I didn’t know you worked here.”

Shoulders shrugging, Hermione used the moment to acknowledge her hard-earned success since the war. “This is my shop, I’ve owned it for nearly a year now.” Since purchasing the front from a wizard-turned-businessman who retired last June, she built the business from the ground up. 

Draco nods, his eyes surveying the place as if to level it up. “Impressive.” A flicker of surprise showed on Hermione’s features; perhaps her assumptions about him weren’t always right. 

“I’m looking for a gift for my mother. She’s got a trip to France planned in April for her birthday and wants to read about its history. Do you have anything like that?” 

Draco seemingly busied himself by digging a small piece of parchment out of his coat pocket, sliding it into her waiting hand. His fingers brushed along her palm and her breath hitched, chocolate meeting silver. Hermione swallowed involuntarily, nodding as she glances at the list resting in her hand. She wasn’t reading it, even if she did a damn well job of pretending.

“Hmm. A good list….I know just the thing. Follow me.” 

Not giving him the option to decline, Hermione crossed the threshold into the back of the shop where rare books were stored. Tall, gilded cabinets kept safe under magical locks offered rows of glittering titles from every subject imaginable. She summoned a tall, rolling ladder, climbing up a few steps and reaching for a sapphire blue book nestled among thicker volumes. Hermione’s gaze met him again, this time to get his attention.

_See, you **can** be bold._

Suppressing the urge to roll her eyes at her own internal monologue, Hermione slid the book into his outstretched hand. “This was written by Theobalt of Anjou, witness to many of the changes in the royal dynasties of France in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. Eleanor of Aquitaine was one of the few magical members of the Plantagenet bloodline.” 

Draco’s eyes reverted to the page, his fingers tracing the binding and gold lettering. His motions were fluid and slow, nothing but reminiscent of his fine, aristocratic bloodline. In a way, it makes Hermione loathe him even more when she knew nothing could be further from the truth. 

“I’ll take it, it’s perfect for Mum.” Draco’s affirmative answer rang quietly as he left the shared space to browse some more. Hermione took the opportunity to get down, a deep breath filling her lungs as she locked up the cabinets and the rare books room. It was just the two of them now and that did questionable things to her psyche. 

The silence of the shop soothed any lingering tension in Hermione’s movements, her hands busying themselves as she prepared the till to close for the evening. Draco took his time, browsing the shelves and snagging a few more books before coming to the register. Despite the sales that continued to rise, this purchase would raise the till to well over a few thousand galleons for the day. She calculated the prices and carefully placed them in a large paper bag with a moving version of the shop’s logo on the front.

“That’ll be 318 galleons and 35 sickles, please.” Draco handed her the money, grabbing the bag, and gave her a once over. 

“Keep the change, Granger.” He was about to walk out when he saw the moving photo of himself and Astoria on the Daily Prophet display. His expression darkened, a frown tugging at the corner of his lips. His eyes met Hermione’s and she swore she saw conflict in them. Why would such a thing spark that reaction?

“It’s a lovely photo.” The words left her mouth, completely intended to be a compliment, but her throat tightened at Draco’s increasingly hostile expression. 

“Yeah, bloody lovely having your private affairs aired for everyone to see.” He nearly growled, frowning, ignoring the display as he crossed closer to the wooden cashier’s stand. She frowned, watching him approach. “Being tangled up in societal affairs and pureblood marriages isn’t all what it seems to be. Even someone like you can understand that.” Draco’s words gnawed at her, causing the ever-present fuse of pining to ignite. It burned slowly, but threatened to become raging. 

“It doesn’t seem glamorous to me. Seems like means to an end to get heirs and elevate a family’s status.” Hermione never knew much about pureblood marriages until reading about them and talking to Ginny. Apparently, it was the premiere way to show how affluent a family was and not unlike the muggle world after all. 

“Oftentimes it’s not glamorous. I...not everyone has a choice. It means nothing to have that column with Astoria.” His words took on an edge that revealed something like discontent. The way his long fingers slid through his hair, gripping at the roots slightly, revealed just as much. It struck her that he didn’t seem happy. That this lot was potentially forced upon him.

Draco shook his head, turning to leave again. Before he could leave, though, Hermione spoke again. “You don’t seem happy.” 

That demolished the composure they both held, Draco laughing bitterly. “And you know all about happiness, eh? You and Weasley have the perfect relationship with dreams of a brood of your own?” 

Hermione frowned, stepping closer to him, ignoring the way he towered over her. Curse his genetics and his 6’5 stature. “I’m single and have been for quite a while now.” Her words were soft, offered up as a balm to ease the situation. Discussing her relationship status, or lack thereof, was not how she wanted this to end. “But I do know happiness is a choice and sometimes, you have to put your own version of it first.” 

The wind left Draco’s metaphorical sails, his silver eyes surveying her with confusion and conflict. The moment froze them in place, an undeniable tension rising to the surface with dizzying speed. Hermione felt the breath leave her chest as his gaze pinned her to the spot, surveying her with an expression of hunger. Her teeth closed around her lower lip, a nervous hand going to smooth an invisible wrinkle on her dress. 

“I wish it was that easy.” Draco finally muttered, gathering up his bag and left the shop without a word. As soon as he was on the pavement, he disapperated, leaving Hermione with her thoughts and a pounding heart. 

The conversation made Hermione stride across the front room of the shop so she could lock the door before Draco came back. It wasn’t like he willingly sought her out; he came in for a present but left with over 300 galleons worth of books. She felt hope well in her chest, a secret sense of feeling that reminds her of the pining she’s had for Draco for years. If it was mutual, that would change everything. In the moment, Hermione can’t let herself entertain that possibility.

“He’s got a fiancee. He’s got the life always meant for him playing out. I caught him off guard.” Her words, meant to soothe her frayed nerves, did little but plunge her into more uncertainty. The distraction slowly dissipates as she finished closing, grabbing her things and apparating away to Diagon Alley.

She needs a pint before she sees Harry, her other obligations be damned.


	2. ghost upon the moor tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After running across Draco, Hermione's emotions are muddled and rampant. What can her meeting with Harry change? Can anything change her struggles and breathe new life into her ambitions?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all so much for reading, leaving kudos, and commenting! this is my first fic and your support gives me confidence to keep writing! i hope you enjoy this new chapter and leave feedback!! 
> 
> "the start of time" by gabrielle aplin inspired this chapter.

The Leaky Cauldron’s lively for a Tuesday night, Ministry workers in business attire and young people alike littering the establishment with vibrant chatter. Hermione quickly found her favorite spot, one in front of the roaring fireplace, and waited for the barkeep to send over her steak & ale pie and a black currant cider. Tonight, memories continued their innocent yet intrusive vexation. When her eyes slid shut for the briefest of moments, she recalled her time here with the Weasley clan and Harry during the summers. A soft laugh fell from her lips; those complicated days were also simple. The threat of Voldemort hung over them like a dark, heavy cloak, increasing its chokehold throughout the years, and eventually spurred the Golden Trio into action. The Daily Prophet was quite sparse with news of them these days, the so-called expose and backlash following it removed Harry, Ron, and Hermione from the gaze of the public writ large. 

Two years ago, a collection of articles rocked the wizarding world with ‘truths’ about the trio. The cowardly author, who still remained unknown, spread blatant lies that ignited like wildfire. Harry, the most publicized victim of Voldemort’s reign of terror, was said to be working to usher in a new era of persecuting magicfolk. The reason? That those with pureblood went unpunished for their actions in both wizarding wars and needed to be eliminated for their actions. Such a wild claim festered still-tender wounds following the war. Families, individuals, and society were all trying to recover and heal. The inflammatory remarks were dismissed after an outpouring of letters came to defend Harry, Ron, and herself. The soothing nature of those letters helped some and forced the paper to retract their statements from the anonymous author. However, it still barbed at Hermione’s healing wounds.

The paper deemed her an innocent caught in the convincing cause spearheaded by both Harry and Dumbledore. It painted her as if she had no choice, as if she subjected herself to danger because she didn’t know better. They made her out to be innocent, naive, and foolish. Nothing made her blood boil as much as that. When the ridiculous piece mentioned that she was _pregnant_ with Ron’s child and rumored that they were eloping to legitimize the child, she saw red. Ron, portrayed as jealous and gullible, demanded that she marry him to tie his fate to hers. If only the author knew they didn’t stray far from the mark. After the article went out, Hermione received owls from Ron and his mother, asking if she was truly pregnant. How could she trust, let alone _date_ , the sixth Weasley child if he assumed such gossip? A string of fights lead here relationship with Ron irrevocably broken, her dreams shattered right along with them.

Hermione never felt the spark of excitement or flames of desire others talked about when she was with Ron. He was a comfortable, easy choice, similar to a child’s favorite blanket. Throughout their Hogwarts years he was the option she felt destined for. He was constant in his presence but with that came jealous, childish possession. Actions and words flying from Ron Weasley’s were always impulsive, meant to inflict some sort of harm or blow off steam. He never took accountability or worked to change. The war and its loss fractured virtually all parts of their world, challenging them to change. Hermione never felt so starkly aware of Ron’s stubbornness and ignorance until he accused her of being pregnant, after all they’d been through. She left him like a house aflame, running and choking as she sought to preserve herself.

As was becoming customary, Hermione was pulled from her thoughts as her plate and glass settled on the table in front of her. Displeased with herself, she cut into the pie, savoring the strong flavors and felt the invisible weight of stress slide from her shoulders. It was often hard to isolate herself from the memories. Was it a sign of strength or weakness; healing or stagnation? The efforts, the struggle, was all due to her weekly therapy sessions. If she could address the memories and find who, or _what_ , she wanted to become, she could live a happier life. The what-ifs nearly swallowed her whole, though, and she attempted to focus on the present. 

It was a simple trick given to her by the St. Mungo’s therapist she saw after the war. Counting to three as she breathed in, holding it for three counts, and finally exhaling for another three centralized her focus on what was present here in the Leaky Cauldron. Chocolate eyes surveyed the room, counting the whitewashed bricks surrounding the ancient fireplace. Various paintings, news articles, and other decor littered the walls, not unlike a muggle pub. Hermione’s lips widened in a secret smile, thinking of her own family in the ordinary world. Somehow, she juxtaposed the two worlds, straddling them both in a norm-defying existence. Weighing the facets of her life, ones where scarcely anyone would understand them all, made happiness seem hopeless. The Golden Girl, the brightest witch of their age, was unsure of what even made her happy anymore. 

The saccharine thought of the muggle Granger family only lasted for a few moments, the slight ringing in her ears replaced by the chatter of others all around her. Bleeding fuck, when did she become so depressed? A sinking feeling weighed her down, leaving her to push her food around with disinterest. Hermione knew something had to give, but what it was, she was unsure. As much as she loved the bookshop, she feared it no longer made her happy. Accomplished? Yes. A shining figure of everything she was capable of? Yes. Happy? The verdict was still out on that. 

_What is happiness?_

The question hung heavier in her mind than she would’ve liked, a slight bubble of panic building in her stomach. At twenty-three, Hermione felt lost, if she was being honest. She was accomplished but what did that mean, in the face of what she desired from her life? A shudder erupted along her spine, the carbonation of the cider sinking into her chest in an unpleasant manner. Tears welled and pricked at the corners of her eyes, threatening to spill over. Now, it was time to leave, appetite and sobriety be damned. In a dizzying pace, she left a few galleons with the barkeep and bundled up to face the cold winter’s night. The new year, dazzling with its promise and excitement, proved that she could look towards a different future. If the weight in her chest would subside, and her ever-working mind would shut up, Hermione figured she could make changes. And for the better.

A brisk, harsh wind rolled off the Thames, the wool scarf soon woven tighter around Hermione’s neck. Usually, she would apparate to Grimmauld Place but the cold air stabilized her. Glittering lights reflected off the river, showing how the city was nearly always bustling, even after the holidays were over. High street offered sales, bits and baubles on display in shop windows, and enticed her imagination. Her mum always loved Christmas shopping on the high street back home, always returning home with bags of packages to wrap up for the holiday. It seemed as if memories, both good and bad, swirled around Hermione tonight. The silence and cold eased the discontent threatening to derail her evening. After nearly twenty minutes, Hermione arrived at Grimmauld Place, knocking a few times and gave Harry a smile as he ushered her inside. 

Harry aged well since the end of the war, maturing and growing into a man with a promising career at the Ministry as an Auror. Despite the Daily Prophet’s insidious statements about him, he worked to make sure magicfolk of all kinds were protected in their new world. His most recent case, involving a coverup of an illegal magical creature market, piqued her interest more than many of his other cases. 

“‘Mione, come in, it’s bloody cold out there.” Harry shut the door tightly behind her, adjusting the thick jacket wrapped around his torso. “Did you walk all the way here?” 

Hermione gave him a sly smile, shrugging as she placed her coat and scarf on the coat rack. “I needed the fresh air. I had an unexpected visitor at work and I don’t know how to feel about it.” Her admission clouded the cheery expression in Harry’s eyes. Ordinarily, the pair talked about all sorts of things under the sun but a sense of unease accompanied these sorts of talks. Since the breakup with Ron, Harry didn’t feel comfortable sharing information about the other person in their former trio. Hermione felt it was the best decision; there was no reaching a decision with this particular impasse. Harry silently crossed into the kitchen, returning with two drams of whisky. The two grew closer since the falling out with Ron and Hermione was happy for it; she felt as if she could breathe again.

“Alright then, who was it?” The hesitation in answering lingered in every fibre of her being, unsure of how the news would land. Harry’s concern with, and scrutiny of, Draco’s activities was borderline obsessive. Sneaking around the corners, attempting to catch the blond man with his hands dirty, was partially explained by Harry’s instinct that Malfoy was up to something. Sixth year proved those inklings correct, but also landed Draco in the hospital wing. Hermione still shuddered when she thought of Draco lying in the water, nearly bleeding out from Sectumsempra. The frown on Harry’s features deepened as she tried to formulate the words. How did Draco leave her so tongue tied? 

“Draco. He came in looking for a book for his mum and he lingered for a while.” Hermione’s fingers wove together as she placed them in her lap, chocolate eyes refusing to meet emerald as she took in the burning glow of the fireplace. “It was weird, Harry, he’s never talked to me so casually before. At least not without insulting me.” Hermione snorted, taking a long sip from her  
whisky. When she finally glanced at Harry’s face, surprise lingered there. 

“Did he want something? He usually doesn’t linger places, even in the few times we’ve run across each other. He’s always avoiding me.” Harry’s frown was nearly comical, and Hermione had to keep herself from laughing. Nearly a year ago, after their annual Yule get together, he spilled that he’d always been attracted to Draco. It was fleeting, though, as Harry explored his love life. He and Ginny remained apart and, so far, he remained single. At least someone knew the circumstance of being single, even if he didn’t view it the same as she did.

“It was nothing serious, just bought...several hundreds of galleons worth of product from me. He probably meant to leave, to forget he saw me, until he saw his and Astoria’s engagement photo in the Daily Prophet. It struck a nerve.” Hermione’s own reaction to the encounter made her cheeks flame, unable to rid her mind of the desire she felt. She could imagine his large hands pressing her petite torso against the wooden cashier stand, his spearmint and intoxicating cologne filling her senses. How her lips wanted to meet his, the seemingly ever-present pout on his lips threatening to topple her delicate composure. 

Harry’s eyes rolled with a dramatic flair, his own whisky dwindling in his glass. “Dear old Lucius and Narcissa decided to pair him up with his twin, bloody surprised they’re not related.” That reaction just about brightened her entire day, the ridiculous tone of his voice pulling peals of laughter from her. Alcohol always enhanced her reactions but after a day of uncertainty and rampant desire, she needed the release. Harry’s broad grin showed how he was pleased with himself, ramping it up. “Oh, Lucius, shall we marry him to someone who looks like his sister? We _must_ keep those pureblood genetics alive. Oh, she has a blood curse? As long as we get our precious heir nothing else will matter!”

Hermione’s laugh grew a bit short at the last part. He didn’t know the jealousy she felt, or the irony of Astoria’s bloodcurse. Sure, one sort of blood curse was fine as long as it ensured the continuation of the Sacred 28 families. Hermione’s blood curse, that of a mudblood, was entirely different. It diminished her to nothing, regardless of talents or abilities. Sometimes, she hated the wizarding world. At least now, most old guard traditions were giving away to real change. “He’ll be happy with her. His Veela-like fiance, expensive designer clothes, and jet setting lifestyle. Malfoy and his heir will never want for anything.” She suppressed her own eye roll; now wasn’t the time to get bitter over things she couldn’t change.

The laughter died down after a bit more banter, Hermione looking pensively into the bright flames of the fireplace. Harry caught on, as he always did, moving a hand to rest on her forearm. “If I didn’t know better, Mione, I would think you were jealous.” 

Well, those words certainly didn’t help, the blush spreading along her freckled cheeks with frightening speed. “I’m...not, Harry. It bothers me, though, knowing people like _him_ continue on without any concern for the events of the past.” The lie left her lips easily, unlike the others she told to pretend as if she didn’t care about, or for, Draco. 

Harry shrugged, carding a hand through his unruly dark hair. “You know he’s been training as a Healer at St. Mungo’s?” The news sobered her entirely, a wave of uncertainty washing over her. “He’s interning in their potions lab for now but sees patients too.” 

Draco? A healer? Well, that was one thing the papers left out entirely. She couldn’t imagine Narcissa and Lucius would be happy with their son getting his hands dirty, mingling with the average witch or wizard. Hermione’s teeth secured around her lower lip, eyes flitting to meet Harry’s. “How d’you know?” Ever curious Granger, always needing proof and logic for the claims of others.

“After we busted the first part of the creature smuggling ring we needed someone to look after Hyacinth Broadmoor. She was attacked by a red cap and lost a lot of blood. The ring was held at an old burying ground, apparently near some battlefield in Bromborough? The department’s historian had to research for us. Actually went up to York, too.”

Hermione’s mind spun with the new information, on multiple accounts. A red cap? Draco, a healer? Activity in York? Curse her nearly overactive mind, she was firing on all synapses as she tried to connect it all together. “Do you mean the Battle of Brunanburh battlefield?” Brows knitted together, the academic and logical sides of her brain took over. “That site’s over a thousand years old…” Fretting over the details did little to steer the topic away from Draco, however, as Harry simply brought him up again.

“Erm, yeah. We got her to Mungo’s and Draco brewed a potion to help her heal more quickly. He’s been showing proclivity for treating patients with injuries from magical creatures. Last year he treated a man who ran across a snallygaster in Scotland. The Red Cap’s attack left undiscovered bacteria in her bloodstream. The healers caught before it could become deadly. They’re studying it now and trying to find an antidote in case something like that happens again.”

Nodding was all she could muster, a thickness growing in her throat. Draco was doing _amazing_ work. He was making a name for himself and helping people in a way that couldn’t be pinned on his blood status or family history. Shame filled her; was she really so wrong to expect the worst of the youngest Malfoy? For someone that spoke of acceptance and dissolving old assumptions, Hermione was a walking contradiction. “I had no idea.” She muttered, finishing off her whisky.

“He’s…not as bad as he was in school. Hell, that felt like a lifetime ago. Now we can move on and have our own lives, without those expectations.” Harry’s tone glittered with excitement. He was no longer merely the Boy Who Lived on the run from Voldemort. Now, he was simply Harry with a wealth of respect and honor invoked with the mention of his name. His career in the Ministry was already showing signs of history-altering promise, as his Auror group was starting to bring the dealing of illegal magical creatures to light. “I’ve been corresponding with him in work settings, and he’s been at the office a handful of times to give input.”

Selfishly, Hermione felt left out by this news. She was more isolated since leaving Hogwarts and she didn’t know if that was because of her career choices or, more seriously, the fear that she was no longer interesting. Adult lives were moving on while she felt trapped in the past. She had a quaint bookshop, one that brought knowledge to others and did well enough. She lived in London but worked in York. Regardless of the success, she desired a change. What she once wanted didn’t quite suit her now and she wasn’t sure why. 

“He’s been invited to the Ministry’s ball in a couple week’s time as well.” Hermione was brought back to the moment, the news drenching her like a bucket of cold water. 

“The ball? Merlin, I forgot all about it.” She admitted, remembering she was invited by Kingsley Shacklebolt himself. “Do you think he’ll attend?”

Harry’s nod told her enough, another annoyed look crossing his face. “He mentioned he was bringing Astoria as his plus one. Of course Daily Prophet reporters will be there. It’s going to be the biggest one yet, I think Shacklebolt mentioned there’s about two hundred people invited plus their guests.”

The theme for the ball was centered around Imbolc, the holiday marking the half-way point between the winter solstice and the spring equinox. Rebirth, fire, and warmth were going to be invoked as a way to celebrate the new gains made in the wizarding world since the end of the war. Hermione suddenly found herself with a change of heart, no longer ignoring the event but viewing it with new possibilities. She wanted to appear and make waves, show that Hermione Granger was not keeping herself tucked away in a quiet corner of London. The Daily Prophet’s attention wasn’t needed. No, instead, she hoped to investigate the happenings that piqued her interest, particularly surrounding one blond healer in training.

\----------

With the work week coming to a close, Hermione found herself visiting a dress shop in wizarding York. The ball was growing closer and she needed to find something to wear, something to fit the image in her mind. There, she could start to reinvent herself anew. Taking a deep breath, Hermione stepped into the shop and enamored by the rows of glittering gowns in all colors and silhouettes imaginable.

“Hi, love, can I help you find something?” The cheery worker asked, crossing the space to escort Hermione towards the racks of formal gowns. 

“I’m going to a ball in a couple of weeks and need a gown for it. I haven’t gone to anything so formal in several years. I don’t even own a pair of heels anymore.” Hermione gave her a smile, pleased by the woman’s laid back demeanor. “I want something with a full skirt and a strapless top. Something metallic that compliments my skin tone too.”

“Your vision seems like something ethereal, I’m envisioning something nymph-like with floral decorations.” The woman nodded to herself, weaving through racks with Hermione in tow as she asked about fabrics, colors, and decorations. She loved the creative vision this woman had, and felt confident she was in good hands. Once there was a rolling clothing rack, moved along by magic, behind them, Hermione was put into a dressing room.

“Alright, love, here you go! Let’s see the first one, go on!” The enthusiasm made Hermione laugh as she shut herself inside the dressing room, surveying her choices hanging next to the enormous mirror. They picked out four, all in various styles and colors to present her with myriad options. There was a golden silk, a silver organza with beading, a red chiffon with flowers, and an emerald green with baroque patterned sequins. 

As her Hermione undressed, she took a moment to survey her body in the large mirror. She was never particularly on the side of thin or voluptuous, but rather somewhere in the middle. Adulthood had been kind to her so far, giving her the body of a woman with subtle and attractive curves. Dressing herself well was never a priority until after the war and even now, she still struggled to find styles she liked enough to wear often. In the corner of her eye her scar caught her eye, the shiny flesh muddling the word. It was a relief, and brought hope that maybe someday the scar wouldn’t be readable at all. Steadying her gaze, looking deep into her own eyes, Hermione vowed she would no longer let that word define her. It hurt but in order to grow past this, she had to move through it and all the painful moving parts. 

The glittering dresses hanging up offered her a familiar feeling, one that she had at the Yule Ball. It was time to shine, to show off who she wanted to be. Ironically, ten years later, she still struggled with some of the insecurities from back then. Hermione pondered over the realities as she tried on each of the dresses, ambivalent about all but one. 

Her eyes grew large in surprise, and in all honesty, a notion of self-satisfaction, as she saw the way the green dress hugged her curves and complimented her caramel skin. The zipper went much further down than she could manage to close on her own but it fit _perfectly_. A thrum of excitement grew in her chest. This ball was perhaps the best thing that happened in a long time! The skirt was too long for her 5’5 frame and would need to be accentuated by heels or alterations.

She left the dressing room, holding the hem of the dress’ skirt and walking out barefoot. “Excuse me, could you help me zip up?” Hermione inquired, not seeing the cheerful worker anywhere in sight. She frowned a bit, confused as to where the woman went. She meant to pass the set of three mirrors, surrounding a small pedestal, but the shimmering sequins caught her eye. Taking in a breath, as if she was nervous to survey herself in three angles, Hermione ventured closer to the pedestal. A beautiful woman stood before her, the emerald green dress presenting her in an attractive yet sophisticated manner. If she pinned her curls up, she had her great grandmum’s pin in mind, and wore a pair of delicate gold earrings it would be perfect. 

The worker finally returned with no one but Daphne Greengrass in tow and Hermione’s stomach dropped. She steeled herself against the feeling, insisting that it was ridiculous to be so impacted by one woman, her finance, and now her sister.

“Oh, my apologies darling, had to meet with the owner of the shop!” The worker explained, giving the younger Greengrass a smile and quickly flitted to Hermione’s side. Hermione mustered an understanding and polite smile, sure to acknowledge Daphne. She was fine, she did not need to let jealousy eat at her. 

“Imogen, why don’t you go find Ms. Granger some heels to go with the dress. What size shoe do you wear?” Daphne said, crossing the space and looking over Hermione’s form. She felt vulnerable under her gaze, an instinct that originated from her torture at the hand of purebloods at Malfoy Manor. 

“I wear a 7 ½, thank you.” She managed, smiling at Imogen as she crossed the shop.

“What’s the occasion of this lovely gown, Ms. Granger?” Daphne asked, giving her a soft smile as she zipped up the back of Hermione’s dress. Her cold fingers made Hermione’s skin shiver slightly, her body betraying the turmoil that could only be explained as PTSD. 

“I’m attending the Ministry’s annual ball in about a week and a half. I haven’t been to a formal event in so long.” She mused, smiling a bit, running her hands over her waist and hips. “This is stunning, and I love the slit showing off my leg.” 

“The color suits you and the sequins are just enough for the elegant look you want without being too much. It compliments your beautiful skin perfectly.” Daphne secured the zipper and walked around her, surveying the whole thing up close. 

Hermione smiled, muttering a thanks before glancing at herself in the mirror once more. It was clear today was full of surprises, just as the past few had been since the run in with Draco at the shop. Perhaps the fates had something else in mind, something she had no choice but to indulge in. Life was unpredictable and it seemed this path was promising something much bigger now.

“I grabbed a couple of pairs, Daphne. Which do you like better, Hermione?” Imogen asked, presenting a pair of black velvet t-strap heels and gold metallic ankle-strap heels. 

The offered options were both gorgeous, but the gold heels would work better with her jewelry. “The gold ones. Can I try them on?” Within a few moments she was wearing the heels, given her added height. She smiled at her elegant appearance, feeling an enhanced sense of confidence wearing the ensemble. 

“Well, you certainly look stunning. And we won’t need to do any alterations with the heels. Is there anything else we can help you find?” Daphne was clearly meant for this, her personal style and formal demeanor made her a good fit for the fashion industry.

“I’d like a wrap to go with this, something to help keep me warm.” It wasn’t going to be terribly cold but that option was better than anything she had at home. A black velvet wrap was instantly placed on her shoulders, a silk ribbon joining it together. “Oh, wow...this is remarkable.” She was blown away by all of it and felt more than prepared to go to the ball. 

“Let’s get you checked out and taken care of, then.” Daphne said in a cool and confident way, giving her a charming smile before sashaying towards the checkout counter. Hermione undressed with Imogene’s assistance and returned to the entrance of the shop, feeling horribly underdressed now that she was back in her normal clothes.

The whole experience was pleasant and refreshing, one that instilled confidence in her that not every interaction with new people would be the same. She was also given a strong taste of reality, forcing her to remember she couldn’t attach the same stereotypes to everyone she assumed was the same. Shame threatened to make her cheeks flame, but she acted kindly until it was time to leave.

“Here’s my card, Hermione, if you need anything else. You’re just the kind of customer I like to have.” Daphne threw her a dazzling smile, pressing the sleek black card into her hand. It was illustrated with a moving model, nearly looking like Venus, wearing a fancy gown. Hermione gave her a smile, nodding. “Thanks for your help, Daphne. I’ll be back the next time I need your impeccable fashion sense.” 

Hermione left the shop, dress and bags in hand, feeling like a brand new woman on a mission to change her perception of the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hermione's dress: https://i.ibb.co/bdk6yJX/hermione-ball.jpg


End file.
